


First, Second, Third

by crewdlydrawn



Category: DCU
Genre: Drabble, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, POV First Person, how they got together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-04-13 08:37:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4515204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crewdlydrawn/pseuds/crewdlydrawn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce Wayne recalls the three times he and Clark Kent kissed, before it became a habit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First, Second, Third

**Author's Note:**

> (I'm not a regular Superbat writer, but I wrote this for a friend and liked it.)

The first time it happened, I kicked him off a rooftop, and--what? Don't look at me like that, he's _fine,_ the idiot can _fly_. Catch me off guard, and shit happens.

The second, he claims, was more of an accident. They were shooting at us, and Mr. Bulletproof decided to tackle me to get me out of the way. I'd been about to tell him the cape would deflect them just fine when his face smashed into mine and we both hit the ground. Now, most people would be conscious of where their head goes, and you'd think an extraterrestrial with heightened senses would be even better at it, but he doesn't lie so good so maybe, _maybe_ that's how it went down.

Third time? Third time was on me.

It wouldn't have happened if he weren't an idiot.

By all logic--if one can live in this city and still believe in that--both of us should have bitten it. They had guns, no shocker there, but they had also managed to get their hands on a set of the glowy rocks. Goddamn those glowy rocks. (In the right setting, they could probably be very useful, even fun... but I blame him for those kinds of thoughts.) The escape plan had been simple; if necessary, break through the wall or the roof and deal with clean up later. Glowy rocks junked that one.

We did the best we could, considering, and if I had been alone, I probably would have made it out alive, in need of some surgical extractions. Instead, a bullet meant for me sank into his chest, his weakened flesh unable to bounce it back like normal. He knew, too, the jerk, when he stepped in front of it. The gun was the last one standing, and I came close to breaking a few rules in stopping him, after. We made it, but the bullet was deep.

Once it was out, half from super-human healing powers kicking back in and half from Alfred's surgical expertise, I punched him. Directly on that same steadily closing wound. He tried to complain. I shut him up.

That was number three.

After that, I lost count.


End file.
